His sentence was a two-year probation, with an order for psychiatric treatment and a $750 fine. Her support of my father strengthened my belief that I was a very bad person.Īt the end of the court proceedings, my father was convicted of criminal sexual conduct in the fourth degree. My mother sat next to him I had been abandoned. I felt ashamed, as if I were to blame for the abuse and should have been able to stop him.Īs I testified, I could see the hate in his eyes. I was breaking the silence that he demanded I keep - I was betraying him. Although I was relieved to be out of my parents' home, the thought of testifying against my father in court was horrifying. That telephone call led to my father's indictment and a trial. Would my father go to jail? Would I be sent to a foster home? I was terrified of what would happen next.
I said yes she dialed the telephone.Īs she talked to the case worker, my heart raced. She asked me if I would talk to a case worker. She looked at the bruises on my face and said that it was her responsibility to report child abuse to the Department of Social Services. Finally, someone knew that I was telling the truth. I walked away knowing that I would never return home, even if it meant ending my own life.Putting aside my fear that again I would not be believed, I sought the help of a social worker at the county mental health center. My mother's immediate concern, I felt, was that the neighbors might see what was happening. A week later, my father found and brought me home, only to beat me and throw me physically out onto the sidewalk. My entire physical and emotional being screamed for someone to recognize that something was deeply hurting me.Īt 16, no longer willing or able to endure any further abuse, I ran away from home. Physical indications of sexual abuse were also present, such as chronic upper respiratory, kidney and bladder infections, as well as gynecological problems and rectal bleeding. I was desperately crying for help - through bedwetting, truancy, poor academic performance, attention-seeking behavior, self-destructiveness, hypochondria, chronic depression, fatigue and eventually drug and alcohol abuse and promiscuity. Yet my behavior at the time indicated that there was, in fact, something seriously wrong in my home environment. He was my father, and I trusted him.īetween the ages of 13 and 15, I informed four people of the incest: my mother, a physician, a schoolteacher and my best friend. My father never physically forced me to participate sexually with him until my mid-teens.
Only after he began to mention the word "secret" did I question if what we were doing was right. It seemed that he was providing me with the love and affection that a child desperately needs from a parent. As a child, I did not understand what my father was doing.
#BLACK INCEST PORN GAY MANUAL#
His assaults ranged from manual stimulation to oral, anal and vaginal penetration. My father, a former police officer, began to sexually abuse me at the age of 3 and continued until just prior to my 16th birthday. For most of my life, the pain was buried under the defenses that I had developed to emotionally survive the incest. Vulnerability is difficult to expose to others, but now I can allow myself the relief of crying.
Tears form in my eyes, and I dive into the water so they will go unnoticed. I look at the little girl in the pool and wish that I could have felt the same bond of trust with my mother that she feels with hers. I acknowledge another equally painful memory, of my mother, who did not protect me from my father. Today, I am left with an image of horror and betrayal. My look of joy suddenly turns to one of shame and fear. I see the same joy on my face as I just saw a moment ago on the child's, until my father reaches his hand under my swimsuit to fondle me. The memory surfaces of myself as a small child: My arms are wrapped around my father's neck while swimming in a lake. A smile of success and relief appears on the child's face. The mother tries to assure her daughter that she will not be left adrift, but her efforts fail.Īcknowledging the fear, the mother tosses the ring onto the deck and gently kisses her daughter's cheek. Protesting, the little girl begins to kick her feet and cling desperately to her mother's neck. Not a hint of distrust crosses this child's face she appears confident of her mother's love and protection.Īfter a few moments, the mother attempts to place the child into an inflatable toy ring. They wrap their arms securely around each other and playfully bob up and down. I watch a young mother climb into the swimming pool with her 3-year-old daughter.